


Heaven is Overrated

by MossadHuntinDog



Series: The Family's Soul [6]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Fatherhood, Healing, Motherhood, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MossadHuntinDog/pseuds/MossadHuntinDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't understand why Daddy pushed Mommy away when she tried to comfort him; she only knew that it had something to do with the photo of the lady on the mantel, the one that shared her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: NCIS, sadly, is not mine.

"Daddy! Daddy, wake up!" The child climbed onto the bed, crawling towards he parents. Her father had his arms wrapped around her mother, his face buried in her hair. A moment passed, before she managed to wedge herself between her parents, eliciting groans from both as they adjusted; Tim turned to face the wall, and Ziva pulled a pillow over her head with a groan as Elizabeth proceeded to try to shake her parents away. "Daddy! Wake up!" She grabbed her father's shoulder, shaking again. "Daddy- _ow!_ " She turned, to see the pillow lift up only slightly, and moved closer, catching sight of one of her mother's dark eyes studying her before the pillow dropped back over her face.

"You deserve to get kicked for being up this early on a day we're off rotation, Rivka." Ziva grumbled, kicking again, only this time, managing to hit her husband instead of her daughter.

"Ziva!" Tim groaned in annoyance, kicking his wife back, even as Elizabeth clambered onto her father's side, reaching down and opening one of his eyelids. She found herself staring into the same green she possessed, before finding herself on the floor. She shook her head, before climbing back onto the bed and turning her attention to her mother this time. Being cautious, she climbed onto her mother and leaned close, whispering softly,

"Mommy, wake up." Ziva swatted her away, turning, the pillow she'd placed over her head moving up, towards the headboard. Elizabeth managed to keep her balance, and tried again, "Mommy... _Mommy_..." When her mother shifted this time, it sent the child careening into her father, with enough force to knock the MIT graduate out of bed.

"Ziva!" After a moment, the former assassin sat up, peering over the edge to see her husband sitting on the floor, their daughter in his lap. She sighed, pushing the blankets aside and scooting towards her husband's side of the bed.

"You have us up, Rivka, now what is so important?" She said, crossing her legs underneath her. The girl looked between her parents, before getting up and tugging on her father's hands.

"Come on, Daddy! Come on!" Tim climbed to his feet, moving towards the door, when he suddenly stumbled. Ziva snorted, watching as Elizabeth got behind her father and pushed against him, trying to make him move faster. "Daddy, move!"

"I'm going!" Ziva got up, following her family. She found them in the living room. Elizabeth had obviously gotten up earlier, because there was a bowl of cereal sitting on the coffee table next to a small glass of orange juice and a coloring book. Various crayons were scattered about the floor and tabletop, and some of the juice had sloshed over the rim of the glass, dripping onto the hardwood floor. But what caught Tim and Ziva's attention was that the TV was on- and not on one of the children's shows Elizabeth liked, but the news. Or, more importantly, coverage on the Memorial Day celebration taking place at Arlington.

"Daddy? Daddy!" Tim turned, as Elizabeth grabbed something off the table. "Someone knocked at the door, but I didn't open it all the way because you told me not to for strangers. Jethro scared them, and the person just asked if I would give this to you. He said it was important." Tim knelt down, taking the small box his daughter held.

"Who was it, baby girl?"

"I didn't see them. I just say their feet. But they said that... that it was your mommy's." Tim glanced at Ziva, and then stood, scooping Elizabeth up and settling on the sofa. She cuddled on his lap, laying her head against her father's chest, listening to his heart as he worked on opening the box. "What's in it, Daddy?" She reached over to help, but Ziva's hand on her arm stopped her. She turned; Ziva had joined her family on the sofa, and quickly, she scooped the girl onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her and pressing a kiss to her head.

"It's Daddy's gift, sweetie, let him open it."

"But I want to see it." Elizabeth whimpered, and Ziva chuckled.

"I know, so do I." She murmured, brushing a strand of hair off her daughter's cheek. They watched as Tim finally got the box open and lifted out a small wooden chest- a jewelry chest, it looked like; a beautiful old Irish elm box with golden hinges and something drawn on the top.

"Daddy, what is that?" She asked, as Tim gently brushed his fingers over the etchings.

"They're the star signs for Gemini and-"

"Virgo." Ziva whispered, recognizing the Zodiac symbol. He nodded.

"Yeah. The Twins and the Maiden." He swallowed thickly, tears in his eyes. "It was my mom's sign."

"Your Mommy?" Elizabeth asked, and he nodded.

"Yep. The one you're named after." Her green eyes widened and she pointed to herself, whispering,

" _Me_?" Her parents chuckled softly, and Ziva pressed a kiss to her head as her husband gently brushed his fingers over the interlocking constellations. He remembered the box- he'd gone with his mother to an antique store and they'd searched and searched; Elizabeth had wanted something special for keepsakes, and after visiting three stores, they'd found it- this beautiful, simple Irish elm box with the gold hinges. Made in the late eighteen-nineties, it'd been brought over to New York from Ireland, and had been lost in a fire in the slums, only to turn up in this small antique shop in Virginia. Burned and bearing the deep scars of savage flames, Tim had picked it out, going to his mother, who, upon getting it home, fixed it up, before designing the interlocking Zodiac constellations on the top. He could still hear her voice, feel her touch, as he ran his own fingers over the box.

_"This has seen tragedy, Timothy, and it's our job to give it tender loving care. It's our job to make sure it knows that it's loved and that it has a good home."_

His mother had kept special knickknacks in it- little childish ornaments he'd make her for Christmas, or small figurines he'd pick out when they went shopping. It became something they shared together- their antiquing, those special days with his mother, that ended all too soon at sixteen, when, two months after her son graduated high school, she wrapped her car around a pole in an attempt to get out of the way of the car that had jumped into her lane. After she died, his father had packed the box away, hiding it in the attic, taking all his memories of her with it. Elizabeth was never mentioned in the McGee household again, and after moving to D.C., Tim assumed the box had been lost or sold when his father sold the house he and Sarah had spent their teenage years in. To find it having turned up out of the blue...

"Daddy, what's Virgo?" He glanced at Elizabeth, tears in his eyes.

"It's a star sign; part of the Zodiac- they're constellations, and they correspond with the month and day of a person's birth. I'm a Virgo, because I was born in early September."

"What am I?" Ziva brushed her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"You..." Ziva sighed. "You are a Libra, my love. That means," She pressed a kiss to her daughter's head. "That your birthday is between mine and Daddy's. Daddy's birthday is before yours, and mine is after."

"What are you, Mommy?" Elizabeth turned  to meet her mother's eyes. The former assassin glanced at her husband, before holding up a hand with a grin. 

"Scorpio." She replied, making the sign of the scorpion. She wiggled her fingers, before moving close and tickling her daughter. The child squealed, trying to get away. Neither noticed as Tim slowly opened the box, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He opened it, starting to read, before Elizabeth kicked out, accidentally knocking the box off her father's lap and sending it to the floor.

 _"Hey! That's enough, both of you!"_ Both McGee women stopped, surprised by the anger in his voice. He knelt down, picking up the box as he stood. _"Don't either of you know to be careful?"_ Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears, and she reached for her father.

"Daddy-" Ziva gently pulled her daughter close, pressing a kiss to her head before shifting the girl to the sofa.

"Stay here, baby girl." Then, she climbed to her feet and rushed after her husband. She found Tim sitting on the back porch steps, the box beside him. He was reading something, and slowly, silently, she knelt down behind him, reaching out. But she stopped, biting her lip. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her hands up his back and leaned against him, trying to give him her strength. "I'm sorry, Tim, it wasn't Rivka's fault, it-" But he pushed her away, getting up. She watched as he moved down the steps and went to the roses planted in the far corner. She sighed, climbing to her feet. After a moment, she hurried down the steps, making her way towards him. "Talk to me, baby." But he didn't look up, he kept his gaze glued to the paper in his hands. Slowly, gently, she took the paper from him.

"Not now, Ziva." He ground out, snatching the paper back from her. "Just... just go back inside, I'll be in soon." Without a word, Ziva did as told, glancing back at her husband, before her gaze moved to the box. On her way back inside, she picked up the box, taking it into the kitchen. With tender care, she cleaned it, drying it gently before setting it on the kitchen table to dry.

"Mommy?" She looked up; Elizabeth was watching from the living room doorway. Sighing, Ziva went to her child.

"Why don't you go clean up the table, and then we'll take Jethro for a walk, okay?" The girl nodded, rushing off to do as told. Once the girl was finished, Ziva got the leash and grabbed her jacket, making her way towards the back porch. "Rivka and I are going to take Jethro to the park. Do you want to come?" Tim met her gaze.

"Not today, Ziva. Have fun." She nodded, going to him. He was sitting on the sofa, lost in thought, and after a moment, she leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"When we get back, we're going to talk. Understood? I will not allow you to shut me out like this, to shut our daughter out. Are we clear?" He nodded, and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, unaware that Elizabeth was watching from the doorway, Jethro beside her. The child didn't understand why Daddy was so upset, and he wouldn't say that it was specifically her fault, nor did he say it was Mommy's fault, but... but he was sad, and she wanted to fix it.

After they left, Tim came into the house, to see the box, now dry of the juice that had spilled on it, sitting on the kitchen table. Taking a deep breath, Tim picked up the box and went into the living room. He put an old Jazz record on the player and started it; soon, Ella's smooth, silky voice filled the house. He took a seat on the floor, near the fireplace, and opened the box, swallowing his fear. The smell of ginger- the scent his mother loved so- wafted into the air, the shavings of the root still in the small sachet bag he'd made for his mother on her birthday one year. He slowly lifted the sachet out, breathing in its scent; warm, inviting, spicy, so much like his mother.

 _And so much like your wife. Ziva would love this scent._ He set the bag down; this was the reason he hated the scent of ginger on his wife, why he would never go near her if there was ginger in the air. He associated it with his mother, and the night she died.

Slowly, he lifted out the turquoise drop earrings he'd gotten her for Christmas back when he was fourteen, when he'd taken Sarah to an antique shop with Penny and they'd each picked out something for her- Sarah had chosen a bracelet, Tim the earrings, and Penny a necklace, all unaware that they'd chosen the three pieces of a set. She'd loved them, and worn the pieces on the night she died, when the jewelry had been returned, Tim had dropped it in the box, and put it away, forgetting it- and his mother- for years afterwards.

Until Elizabeth's birth, when Sarah told him that she wanted to name the baby after their mother.

It had brought back memories, memories both McGee kids had repressed, and Tim had been trying to hide it ever since, but seeing how much of his mother's beauty was in his daughter, made it hard to keep the heartache away. He swallowed. It wasn't Elizabeth's fault that she looked so much like her namesake.

_He watched her thread the earrings through her ears. She grinned at her son, paying careful attention as he folded himself into the chair in the master bedroom, his bright green eyes becoming lost in thought. As she pulled the bracelet on her wrist, she went to him, gently tilting his head up so she could stare into his eyes. "I can see the thoughts racing circles in your head, Timothy James. What are you thinking about?" He met her gaze. She looked beautiful; the black pantsuit with the Kelly green blouse bringing out her eyes made her look... regal. Her long hair was pulled back in a French twist, and her makeup was minimal. The necklace, bracelet and earrings only made her more impressive. She was going to a dinner; being the head of her own publishing company- though small as it was- required some mingling with bigger fish, not that she minded._

_"Will you be home in time for Sarah's dance recital?" She chuckled._

_"Of course; I wouldn't miss Sarah in her pink tutu for the world. Nothing could keep me away. Anything else?"_

_Yes, he wanted to say. Don't go. Stay. Miss the dinner and go with us._

_"It's raining." She turned her gaze to the window, the lightning splitting the sky._

_"It is. Is that what you're worried about?"_

_"What if you get in an accident?"_

_"I'll be fine, love. I'll be careful. Besides, by the time I get out of the dinner, the storm will have passed and roads will be dry. I'll be at Sarah's recital in no time. Okay?" He nodded as she stood, grabbing her coat and pulling it on. As she picked up her purse, he spoke up again._

_"Mama?" She turned back to him. "I love you." A smile tugged at her lips, and she went to him, prssig a kiss to his head._

_"I love you too, Timothy James."_

_She never made it to Sarah's recital._

He took a deep breath, a tear slipping down his cheek.

His mother never made it to the recital, she never made it home from the dinner. The rain had only gotten worse, and while she'd been careful, the weather was partially responsible for her death. Slick roads, less than idea driving conditions, and the other driver coming towards her had all had a hand in Elizabeth McGee's death. She'd tried to hit the breaks, but had slid on the wet highway, slamming into the telephone pole. Her car had compressed on impact; throwing her- still in her seatbelt- through the windshield and towards the wood. The force of the crash had snapped her neck, and, the coroner had found, when she'd gone through the shattered window, it had been the broken glass that had decapitated her- slicing through soft skin and muscle alike- like a knife through hot butter- severing the already broken neck bones in one clean sweep. Her head had been found just inches from the car, green eyes frozen wide, thanks to the last muscle spasms of a dying human being.

From that moment on, the remaining members of Elizabeth's family spiraled out of control- John became even more controlling of his children; where Elizabeth had been the delicate balance, holding her husband back, he now came at full force; Sarah dove into her books, forsaking friends for the comfort of the written word, and Tim closed himself off, burying himself in school and science, computers and technology to hide the pain of losing his mother in such a violent way. At seventeen, a year after her death, he'd legally changed his name- removing 'James' from his birth certificate- and, in essence, having no middle name. Henry James had been Elizabeth's favorite author, and she and John had reached a compromise when he was born; he would be Timothy, for his paternal grandfather, as long as his middle name was James, for the writer of whose novels she loved so much. From the time he was old enough to remember, he could recall her reading a short story by Henry James, or a chapter of a James novel to him before bed.

Slowly, silently, he went through every piece in the box, recalling memory after memory of his mother, unaware that two hours and passed and his wife and daughter had returned, Jethro in tow. "Tim, baby, we're home."

"Daddy! I went on the swings! And Mommy and I went to the store and bought ice cream! We- Daddy?" Ziva looked up as she unhooked Jethro, to find her husband sitting by the fireplace, small trinkets scattered about him. She hurried to Elizabeth.

"Can you go put the ice cream in the freezer, baby girl?" The girl nodded, doing as told. Once she was gone, Ziva went to her husband, kneeling beside him. "Baby, what's wrong? Tim, talk to me." She reached out, but stopped. Slowly, he didn't remove his gaze from the small porcelain turtles he held-a Mama turtle with a baby on her back.

"James."

"What?" He slowly lifted his head, meeting her gaze, and it was then that Ziva saw the tears in his eyes. He sniffled, handing her the figurine.

"My middle name... is James." Her brow furrowed as she took the turtles, and after a moment, he continued. "I had it legally removed a year after my mom died, because it was just too painful. My grandfather, Penny, my dad... all called me James when I was younger, and after she died, I just... I didn't want to hear it anymore, so I had it legally removed from my birth certificate." Ziva pulled her legs under her, listening. He turned to the earrings, lifting one up. "She was wearing these the night she died. I gave them to her for Christmas when I was fourteen. They were still in her ears when they found her head after the car crash."

Ziva winced, understanding what he was talking about. She knew his mother had been killed in a car crash, that she'd been decapitated due to impact, that it had devastated her husband and children. He set the earring down, and picked up something else, telling her about some memory associated with it, and after a moment, she reached out, taking his hand. Small footsteps rushed back into the living room, and Ziva looked up as Elizabeth careened into her father's arms. He caught her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Daddy, what's all this?"

Tim sighed. "These... these are things that belonged to your grandma. They belonged to my mom. These were things she loved dearly." Elizabeth reached out, picking up the sachet.

"No, baby-" Tim stopped his wife.

"It's fine, Ziva." They watched the girl sniff the bag, before pulling away.

"What is that?" Tim chuckled as Ziva took the bag, holding it to her nose.

"It's-"

"Ginger." Ziva finished. She met her husband's gaze. "I love ginger." Tim nodded.

"I know you do. I just-"

"She wore it the night she died."

"Yeah, she did. Ziva, baby, I never meant to-" But his wife waved it away.

"I understand, love. It was painful, because you always associated it with her. Believe me, I know what it's like." As she handed the bag back to her husband, Elizabeth reached for the turtles Ziva had set down. Her face lit up as she picked it up.

"Turtles! Daddy, look!" He chuckled softly, nodding.

"I know. I gave that to grandma when I was your age." She looked up at him. "She always said that big turtles do that because they love the little turtles and want to protect them." He said, pointing the parent turtle before pointing to the little one. Elizabeth cocked her head to the side.

"That's a daddy turtle." He chuckled, meeting his wife's gaze.

"No, it's a mommy turtle and a baby turtle." Elizabeth shook her head.

"No it's not! It's a _daddy_ turtle and a _baby_ turtle."

He rolled his eyes, unwilling to keep arguing with a child as his wife chuckled. "Then we'll have to get a mommy turtle to go with it." Ziva watched her husband nuzzle his nose in his daughter's curls, and after a moment, she got up, moving to the kitchen to fix tea. But she stopped, picking up the letter that lay forgotten on the floor. As she headed into the kitchen, she let her gaze move over the scroll, so like her husband's.

_My Darling Timothy James,_

_By now, you've probably surpassed so many milestones in your life- graduating college, getting married, having children. Milestones I couldn't be there to witness, that I wish I could have been. I have missed all the important experiences a son goes through, from meeting the woman you intended to marry, to helping with the wedding, to being a part of the baby shower and being there to meet my first grandchild. That I was lucky enough to be there for your high school graduation, but not enough to witness your life truly beginning to take shape, is a burden I wish on no one._

_I hope, my Timothy James, that you've found a good woman, a wonderful, beautiful, kind woman- beautiful and spirited in both body and soul- and that you're smart enough to keep her from getting away. I hope you've built a life for yourself, and that you love and protect her with all your heart, that she is the most important person in your world. Be kind to her, love her for who she is, and she will return that love, making you the luckiest man in the world. Let her know every day that you love her, that you're grateful she's in this world, and that she's chosen you to spend the rest of her life with. Kiss her, hold her, make love to her, do whatever you have to do to remind her that she's your world, and she'll never stray from your arms._

_By now, I'm sure you've had children, and I can only hope that you were involved in her pregnancies- helping her when she needed it, listening when she voiced her fears, being her support and her backbone when it came time for her to birth. Pregnancy and childbirth is an exceedingly sensitive part of marriage, and the woman you married isn't the woman who carried and brought your children into the world. She's different, because motherhood changes a woman. She's more in tune with her body and soul, with the miracle she carried inside her, and the little life that now, most likely, keeps you both on your toes. She sees the world in a light that men don't see- don't dismiss that, it's an important part of marriage. Parenthood changes you; you learn to love and care for the tiny lives you created, and appreciate what you couldn't when they didn't exist._

_Trust me, darling, I know. You and Sarah were my greatest gifts, the best things your father could have ever give me. I have never been more in love than when you were laid in my arms, all those years ago; from the moment you were conceived, you were mine- a part of my heart. From the moment you were born, you were a part of my soul. A family's soul is a precious, delicate thing, Timothy. It needs to be protected, to be nurtured, like a rose or a lily. Your grandfather used to tell me that the family's soul is like a delicate crystal vase, balanced on a high-wire; any major blow, from either of the four corners of the wind, will cause it to fall and shatter upon impact with the floor. The trick, is keeping the balance, for even the slightest jolt can send the soul- like the vase- careening into a thousand pieces. It's our job as parents to keep it balanced and whole, for the sake of our children and generations to come. The scars caused from the fractured soul of a family can have lasting effects, effects that cannot often be repaired._

_You are a kind, beautiful soul, my love. You have a golden heart, and a spirit to match, and I hope you pass on what I've taught you to your children. There are far too few souls like yours in the world, and we are in desperate need of them. If I have taught you anything as your mother, I hope that it's you look at the world and see what's wrong with it, and every day, instead of turning a blind eye, I hope you try and fix it, even if it's just through some small, tender kindness._

_I hope you teach your wife to dance like I taught you, and that when you make love to her, you remember to kiss the suprasternal notch, for that's- as your grandmother says- the entrance to her heart. It's the vein that carries every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of love to her heart, letting her know she's loved. I hope you help your wife cook, and bake, and occasionally, share a glass of wine when the kids are in bed. I hope you get into food fights in the kitchen, making a mess of the floor and yourselves, and that that very fire that ignited the fight ignites passion as well. I hope you take the time to tease her, to pick on her, to tug at her hair and make her blush; that you let your hands explore her body of their own free will, always finding something new about her you never knew._

_Make sure to teach your children the value of loving themselves, and that they understand what true courage is. Teach them to ride a bike, and to read, and when they ask, make time for them, even if you're too busy. Tell them stories and sing songs to them; teach them the proper way to write their name and how to hold doors open for others, skills I taught both you and Sarah. Don't force them to grow up too soon; allow them to believe in ghosts and dragons and magic. Let them pretend to be pirates, to build fairy circles in the backyard, or traps for brownies in the kitchen, because brownies are like pucks, they love to make mischief. Teach them to fear violence and abhor racism of any and every kind; they will be better people for it in the long run. Let them dream of magical lands like Oz and Narnia, and allow them to be afraid of the monsters under the bed. They will learn, in time, to be weary of changelings, and to never trust mermaids; to stay clear of the faerie's realm, and to embrace the muses. They'll learn to fear the Kelpies and stay away from the labyrinths of the minotaur, to revere the unicorn and to never steal a selkie's hide. They will grow to become strong adults, with a greater understanding of the world, a greater appreciation for others, and a deeper respect for cultures unlike their own._

_And love them, unconditionally, as I have loved you and your sister. For a heart, filled with unchained, passionate love, will never tire of what it possesses; it will never hate who it loves, because its love will be true and deep. Tell them every day that you love them, and kiss them- all of them- as if that moment is going to be the last time you will draw breath. Life is unpredictable, and death so close to life, that you never know when those three little words will be your last._

_Love unconditionally, deeply, truly, my darling, and you and those you love will be all the better for it._

_And never, never, forget that I love you; I have always loved you, and I always will._

_Not even Heaven could stop me._

_I love you, Timothy James, with all my heart and soul._

_Unconditionally and truly,_

_Mama_

She turned back to her family, tears in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the wall, watching as her husband pressed a quick kiss to their daughter's lips. Elizabeth giggled, throwing her arms around her father's neck. Just then, the tea kettle whistled, and folding the letter carefully and slipping it into her pocket, Ziva hurried into the kitchen, removing the kettle from the burner.


End file.
